


Early bird

by amcw177



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amcw177/pseuds/amcw177
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: 5 times John found something horrifying in the refrigerator and 1 time he found something quite nice. @ <a href="http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/">comment_fic</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Early bird

**Author's Note:**

> Written quite a while ago but since I'm brandnew around here I thought it would be a good piece to get started with. Find the original prompt [here](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/271660.html?thread=52218924#t52218924).

John has seen a lot of bad things in his life but he still believes that discovering a cold dead heart in the refrigerator first thing in the morning is not a good way to start the day. Not only does it give the upcoming day quite a damper but it also makes John wish he hadn't had pizza the night before.

When he is done battling his gag reflex, he slowly walks into Sherlock's bedroom and pokes the man awake. It's something of a routine by now - albeit one John could really do without. He finds something gross in the refrigerator, he goes to wake Sherlock, only to get an annoyingly logical explanation for it. It's no different today.

"Sherlock, why is there a human heart in the fridge?"

"Testing the traceability of Ouabain overdose in decomposing bodies," Sherlock bites out and then flings himself around so John is left conversing with his back. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Saving children from starvation or healing the blind?"

"No, only lepers and the odd paralysed man on today's agenda." John isn't sarcastic by nature but living with Sherlock has certain effects on one's social skills. They shrivel up and eventually disappear, for example.

"Then go and leave me in peace already, for God's sake."

Sherlock yanks the blanket over his head and that's that. Conversation over.

When John comes home that night Sherlock is sitting in front of a dissected heart, marveling at its ability to turn lime-green. John thinks finding a cold, dead, green heart on the kitchen table first thing in the evening is not a good way to end a day either.

\---

On Tuesday, their refrigerator houses several glasses filled with what turns out to be eyeballs upon closer inspection.

"They are for the lizards," Sherlock mumbles into his pillow and John doesn't even ask any more.

\---

Wednesday marks the return of the infamous pig liver. Strangely, John has reached the point where anything _not_ human is actually a relief. He still prefers his pig livers cooked though. And certainly not draped all over his carefully arranged sandwiches.

"Need it later for Lestrade."

"What for? To beat him to death with it?" Considering the size of the thing John thinks it entirely possible.

Sherlock pops one eye open and glares at him, "To make him see the error of his ways. Now leave."

John sighs and gets up, "Just, please, whatever you intend to do, don't put it back in the fridge afterwards."

"Why would I do that? That would be disgusting."

At this point John realises that he is morbidly interested in seeing what Sherlock may actually find repulsive. This thought, in and of itself, is an equally bad start for a day as dead hearts, livers or other assorted limbs.

\---

On Thursday it's a mould experiment, according to Sherlock. John argues that Sherlock can go and find mould in the park or pretty much anywhere else in London but apparently it is of utmost importance that said experiment be conducted in their shared refrigerator.

By the time John returns from work the mould has spread over almost the entire upper level, which John has to concede is indeed stunning. What he finds incredibly less fascinating is the fact that he spends the better part of his evening cleaning the fridge while Sherlock takes meticulous notes on John's laptop.

\---

It's Friday and John is almost shocked to find their refrigerator meat-free. He hums to himself to drown out the faint buzzing noise and fixes himself some scrambled eggs and toast. He leaves it standing untouched on the kitchen counter though.

"There is a box full of bugs in the fridge. _Living bugs_ , Sherlock."

"Of course they're alive," Sherlock peers out from under the blanket, obviously dissatisfied with John's lack of understanding, "I can't very well estimate the effect of low temperatures on their reproduction cycle if they are dead, can I?"

"Of course," John mumbles and if Sherlock had paid any attention he would have noticed the resolute edge to it. Hence, he does nothing to prevent John from emptying the bug box into Sherlock's bed. John is pretty sure he will regret it later, seeing as how this is also _his_ bed on occasion but for now Sherlock's indignant shriek is enough to get him through the day.

\---

John wakes up at half past 9 and groans because it is Saturday and can Sherlock not give him a break for one goddamned day? He scrambles out of bed and lurches into the kitchen where he suspects the source of the lurking noise complaint.

He half-expects to find Sherlock hacking away at a raw steak to prove some ridiculous yet irksomely correct theory about a murder victim but instead he encounters Sherlock holding out a frying pan and what appears to be French toast on a plate.

"Happy birthday."

"Wh-what?" John rubs his hand over his face and blinks blearily at Sherlock, "It's not my birthday."

"I know," Sherlock busies himself with piling food onto two plates, "I had the inexplicable urge to say something nice and that was the first thing that came to mind."

"How about the good old 'Good morning'?" John flops down on a chair and is immediately engulfed by the smell of fried bacon and freshly baked bread. So far, this morning is infinitely better than the rest of the week.

"Oh that. It's so horribly dull I can't even-," John can see Sherlock is about one third into a rant about the boring, uninspired set phrases of every-day life but he stops himself when he notices John's scowl.

"I see you are not in the mood right now."

"Your deduction skills are marvellous again today, Sherlock," John heaves a resigned sigh and gives into the inevitable because there are only so many reasons why Sherlock would cook him breakfast. "So what did you put in our fridge _now_?"

"See for yourself."

John grumbles but marches over to the refrigerator anyway. He wrenches the door open and readies himself for an involuntary showdown with a severed head. But what he finds is a carefully arranged sponge cake of unknown origin.

He spins around and comes face to face with Sherlock, who is smiling amicably, "Good morning, John."

And this time John actually believes it might be a good one.


End file.
